


It's MY quarantine and I get to choose to be cringe

by dr_robosaur



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Druids, M/M, Other, mmm yeah don't you just want to be engulfed by a guy you met 6 hours ago take me daddy, the inherent eroticism of being entombed by the earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_robosaur/pseuds/dr_robosaur
Summary: Two rocks, chilling in the warm Earth, -5 feet apart because they are gay
Relationships: Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s) & Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	It's MY quarantine and I get to choose to be cringe

**Author's Note:**

> If someone other than people I personally know read this, here's the scoop. I have this earth genasi named The Emissary who was built by the Earth to stop over-mining. They're heavily influenced by The Magnus Archive's The Buried entity as well as just being major monsterfucker bait. Anyway, later on the DM introduced another earth genasi named Gran who also Fucks. So as Medusa was turned to stone by her own gaze, so hath the monsterfucker become the monsterfuckee. also through the Meld With Stone spell they have telekinesis when they touch and can just go full su fusion  
> Anyway, hmu at dooplissss.tumblr.com and tell me how tf you found this, thanks for reading!

The group stops in a clearing of forest. Despite the city being cleared of guards so suddenly, it still feels as though they barely escaped with their lives. The mortals, Clove and Nyx, catch their breath; Nyx wipes sweat off his brow and Clove’s translucent sleeves sticks to her grey arms. Gran and The Emissary radiate heat from within, though The Emissary knows some of the searing warmth comes from Gran’s fury. They think back to when Gran grasped them during their escape, the rage and confusion and determination so suddenly filling their head they could barely understand Gran’s words. The hazy image of a map swelled in The Emissary’s head then, the knowledge overpowering them.

It was all so much: meeting another creature like themself, being pleaded to by a being that felt so much like home, being told there were _others_. The Emissary was so naïve to think they were the only one, the chosen one, the only child of the Earth. They had spent all these years defending only a small portion of the Earth and thinking they were some grand champion, a martyr of gems and gravel, an army of one. All these years they’d spent alone, waiting for trespassers in the mouth of their cave, it felt like such a waste now. There are others, stronger ones, entities that could engulf cities if they chose, and The Emissary had just-

On their arm they feel warmth, but different from earlier. This warmth slowly climbs up from the hand placed on it, a lapping wave that washes up to The Emissary’s mind before gently folding back. The Emissary blinks and looks up into the hollow of Gran’s eyes. The setting sun shines past the trees into the crevice of his head, making the black quartz inside glint and shimmer like the midnight sky. The Emissary does not understand the greed that makes men covet gems, but, in this moment, they think the night could never compare to this.

“Are you okay?” Gran asks, and The Emissary nearly shivers as the sound reverberates in their head, ricocheting between a sudden influx of concern and tenderness. Before they can speak, Gran lets go, a small tendril of guilt slipping out as he does so.

“Sorry, I… there’s been a lot to take in, I know,” he sighs, stepping back.

The Emissary stands and stares, feeling the chill of the air wrap around them.

Gran sighs and clenches his fist, “We should make camp here, or at least those two should.” He shrugs his shoulder toward Clove and Nyx, the two bickering and beginning to shiver slightly as the sweat and evening air rapidly cools them. The Emissary watches them for a moment, and when they turn back they see Gran take a few steps before sinking into the ground.

They hesitate, then turn to face the others. The Emissary pays little attention to the their words as they put their hand on the dirt and let it collapse under their fingers. The earth parts, making a hole deep enough to stand in. Worms and beetles scrabble on the floor, suddenly displaced, before wriggling back into the soil.

As The Emissary goes to a nearby tree, Clove walks over. “What are you doing?” she asks, watching as they snap off a branch.

“I’m making camp. A covered pit would help avoid detection, in case anyone followed us,” The Emissary replies, handing her a branch. Clove holds it with one hand, shaking off a spider desperately clinging to its web.

“I highly doubt anyone’s coming for us. Whatever happened back there destroyed an army of city guards, and any of them left are probably busy shackling your dad-god back in place,” she says, but still takes any twigs The Emissary hands her.

They pause. Clove stiffens, unsure if she provoked the thing. The Emissary lets go of an unbroken branch, resting their hand on the bark. It’s one of the closest things an organic comes to being a rock, the hard jagged edges like strips of slate. When The Emissary digs in, the bark gives way like sediment; but when they pull back, the bark is scarred, changed. It must heal itself, rather than letting the particles of its brethren engulf and reform the wound as the crust of the Earth does.

The Emissary turns to her, “I don’t think I understand either. I’ve never meet another one like me, now there’s several. The Earth wept for me becoming too organic, now its creator is begging me to free it. I just… I just want to go home.”

Clove reaches out, very carefully, and places it on The Emissary’s arm. They look at her, and while the warmth of her hand isn’t as encompassing as Gran’s, they still feel sheltered by it.

Clove squeezes The Emissary’s arm, “Well, when we get all this weird business over with, could I come with and stay at your place for a bit? I’ll bring that whiskey you like to cover rent.”

The Emissary chuckles, a sound like rocks cracking against each other, and Clove smiles, surprised by the show of emotion. They stretch out to reach one more branch, and head back to the pit.

Nyx is already inside, folding his limbs in various ways to find a comfortable position with little luck. He settles for sitting up, letting his legs reach from one end of the pit to the other. Clove balks at the mud and lack of space, but climbs down without protest, besides kicking Nyx’s right leg to move over. The Emissary covers the hole with branches, showering the campers below with needles and leaves. As they work, Clove shouts out, “Good night!” to them. The Emissary pauses to look at her, replying with a modest “Good night,” and leaves a gap for the stars to shine down on Clove’s face.

For the first time in ages, The Emissary is alone. Somehow, it doesn’t bring the comfort it once did. They stand in the clearing, the sensation of being lost creeping in. Before they can dwell on it, they fall into the ground, relief swarming in with the rubble. Despite being of the Earth, lately there has been a sense that they are intruding when they meld with stone. It always seems temporary, like how a bird may enter the Water but will always be pulled back to the Air by every fiber of their being. The Emissary may find shelter, safety, closure, but the comfort is not there anymore.

Regardless, The Emissary curls up and wraps the Earth around them, blanketed by soil from the rest of the world. They think back on the day, one fateful meeting after another. They remember this morning, a thousand years ago, waking in the prison and wrestling with the shackles before hearing a voice, smooth as sapphire, and Gran appearing in their cell as if he’d been waiting for them. The escape, the entrance into the marble city, the compulsion to find the Earth King, taking Gran’s hand and how it felt so right in that moment _Gran reaching out to take their face in his hands, sleek thumb tracing a thin iron vein on their cheek, pulling them close and-_

The Emissary’s head snaps up. That… certainly didn’t happen today, but _Gran kisses them, hands reaching back to touch the geodes sprouting out of their head, fingers tracing along the pillars of red gems, bringing them closer, closer, until they-_

From close by, The Emissary can hear Gran abruptly shifting in the earth, mumbling to himself as he tries to find sleep again. They can’t hear the words, but a faint aura of frustration and shame emanates from his direction as the vision cuts off.

For the first time, the layers of rock surrounding The Emissary feel suffocating. They feel weighed down, unable to move. The embrace of the Earth isn’t enough, they want something else, they want…

The soil slips like water around The Emissary as they move toward Gran. He is only a few feet away, yet the distance feels like miles. The crystals within The Emissary glow faintly, a soft red in this choking void.

They reach out an arm to Gran; before they can touch him, Gran speaks up.

“Emissary, what’s wrong?” the voice is muffled through the dirt, but is soft, worried. The Emissary hesitates, losing the last bit of certainty they had. They can’t help but stop, waiting for something, anything, to guide them. The Earth is enclosing them, holding them, compressing them, and there is no relief in it.

Something scrapes against The Emissary’s skin, polished granite against coarse emery. Gran’s hand covers their shoulder, the bottom of his palm grazing the broken cavity in their chest, and again they can feel Gran’s mind ebb against theirs. They want nothing more than to let him in, but if they did, he might drown.

“Emissary?” Gran asks again, and alarm begins to creep out of him, “Tell me what’s wrong.” He grasps their other shoulder, his unease beginning to flow into The Emissary.

The Emissary lets him in, slowly at first, but the dam breaks, and everything comes flooding out: being lost, being vulnerable, being overwhelmed, being afraid, being homesick. Gran lets himself get swept away by it, not bracing against the tide but sifting through it, leaning his forehead against The Emissary’s as they both shake, rumbling like a rockslide. Amidst the deluge, The Emissary can sense relief coming from Gran, growing into something close to the adulation they have for the Earth, but different somehow.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Gran murmurs, sliding his hands from The Emissary’s shoulders to their face, and both remember his dream from earlier. A sliver of embarrassment rises up in Gran, but The Emissary chases it away by turning into his palm and kissing it, cherishing the smoothness of it. Gran lets out a breath, moving his free hand to lace his fingers between the glowing stones lining The Emissary’s head and back. The light reflects off his polished skin, deepening the red of the feldspar inside.

The Emissary, in turn, moves a hand to Gran’s chest. A deep gouge cuts into his torso, continuing through his bicep. As The Emissary follows the trail of cracks, a memory of Gran’s surfaces: swords, hammers, Air choked with dust, pulling humans down into the Earth to be suffocated, holing himself up to heal as blood seeped in from above. The memory is hazy, but the pain is enough for The Emissary to put their arms around him and pull Gran closer, their rough hands leaving light scars on his flawless skin. Gran closes the gap and kisses The Emissary, their mouths meeting with a slight _clack_.

It surprises them both, and they ease into it, their minds clinging on to each other, desperate to keep the connection. With the soil around them like a cloak, the crushing weight pushes them further together.

The Emissary has been alone for so long. They remember when they felt the warm embrace of the earth, a void of love, and they remember when they were spat out into the cold, cold Air. They remember scrapping and digging and begging for the Earth to take them back, to be split apart and scattered into flecks, to feel that crushing love again, and Gran feels their pain and envelopes them, and The Emissary feels buried in it.

The Emissary pulls him closer and closer, until they can't tell where they end and Gran begins. Their minds reverberate, thoughts and emotions enfolding each other until there are no walls left. The endless maps of each other’s scars and cracks stretch on and on until they blend into brilliant fissures of black and red. The red glow of The Emissary’s gems flash and burn, reigniting behind their shared eyes.

The earth trembles around the fusion of them becoming one, a singularity. They stay together, an inescapable caress neither knew they desperately needed until now. Everything that kept them alone and unwanted they find in each other, the combined weight of all their fears seeping out into the soil. There are others like them out there, they know they’re not alone anymore, but, here and now, having each other is enough. It is an exaltation to be consumed by Gran, and The Emissary wonders if this is what the Earth wanted for them all along.

They collect themselves, taking in their new form. The dirt thins to let them see their new limbs, streaked with red and black and copper. Inclusions of quartz shimmer from within corundum, making them glow that much brighter. “We must be at least a thousand carats in ruby and quartz,” laughs Gran, “Let’s hope those two don’t get greedy.” The Emissary doesn’t quite understand, but, as Gran shares amusing memories of being chased by a very persistent jeweler, they nestle into Gran’s warm emotions, content to be buried in him.

They sink further into the Earth, and in return the Earth holds them in reverence.


End file.
